


There Is Only You

by TheSexierEvilerCora



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Husbands to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mandalorian Cara Dune, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II - The Sith Lords Spoilers, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic Spoilers, The Force as a Metaphor for Trauma, no beta we die like jedi on dantooine, no sw:legends knowledge required (i hope)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 14:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSexierEvilerCora/pseuds/TheSexierEvilerCora
Summary: Luke was absolutely stunned. He knew his insistence on being involved with the Republic's reclamation efforts had made people uncomfortable but he didn't realise they'd become this eager to get rid of him."For the good of the Republic," Chancellor Cressa insisted, as if it should be obvious. And perhaps the man thought that Luke's inevitable murder should, obviously, be for the good of the Republic, for all Luke could tell."Of course," Luke spoke as calmly as he could manage.It would hardly be the worst thing he'd been asked to do “for the good of the Republic,” after all.Luke Skywalker, the Jedi Exile, just wants to try to help the Republic rebuild after the Mandalorian Wars but instead finds himself in an arranged political marriage.Din, the de facto Mand’alor, is trying his best to pull a defeated people back from the brink of collapse, and his new husband is decidedly not making things less difficult.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 27
Kudos: 166





	1. Side Effects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be incredibly niche but I hope the ten beautiful people that are interested enjoy it

"This is an insult," Boba Fett spat.

  
Din replied, levelly, "Of course it is."

  
"They think they can keep us on a leash."

  
"Of course they do."

  
"You cannot accept these terms."

  
"I most definitely can."

  
"Mand'alor -"

  
"These imbeciles don't realize the position holds no power. We can weather the insult. If we refuse, their demands will be far worse."

  
"It will weaken your claim."

  
"I barely have a claim as it is."

  
"All the more reason to -"

  
"I can't waste time negotiating when our people are more scattered every day. We should count ourselves lucky Revan's done with us and the Republic is too busy licking it’s wounds to bother bleeding us dry."

  
Fett was silent for a long moment before finally making one final objection, much softer than before, "You know what the vows will mean for you."

  
"I can weather the personal cost as well."

  
"You shouldn't have to. It isn't right."

  
"We don't have a choice."

"A political marriage?" Luke was absolutely stunned. He knew his insistence on being involved with the Republic's reclamation efforts had made people uncomfortable but he didn't realise they'd become this eager to get rid of him.

  
"For the good of the Republic," Chancellor Cressa insisted, as if it should be obvious. And perhaps the man thought that Luke's imminent murder would, obviously, be for the good of the Republic, for all Luke could tell.

  
"Of course," Luke spoke as calmly as he could manage. “For the good of the Republic.”

  
Luke knew there was nothing he could do to change the Senate's course in this - nothing he was willing to do at any rate. These were the consequences of his decision to stay in the Republic, and the consequences of choosing to face the Jedi Council’s judgement. There was no sense trying to fight it; better to spend the time and energy planning for his now uncertain future as future consort of the Mand'alor.

  
It would hardly be the worst thing he'd been asked to do “for the good of the Republic.”

The Coruscanti shuttle touched down on the landing pad outside Keldabe.

  
"Let's go see what poor bastard they decided to sacrifice to us vile barbarians," Paz half sighed.

  
Din snorted.

  
A figure in black stepped off, hauling a small storage locker, followed by a blue T3 droid. The shuttle immediately began priming for take off and was gone before they got anywhere near the pad, leaving Din's presumed fiancé in a cloud of sand and exhaust, cloak billowing like an omen around them, without so much as a diplomatic escort or liaison for company. The figure lowered their hood as the dust settled and the approaching Mandalorians got their first look at a small man with soft looking blonde hair and blue eyes that shone like a mirage under the harsh desert sunlight.

  
"Haar'chak," Paz cursed harshly under his breath.

  
"We have a problem?" Din asked.

  
"We sure kriffing do." Din didn't have a chance to follow up as Paz raised his voice to address the outsider, "Welcome to Mandalore, General."

  
Din frowned under his helmet. Not his fiancé then, he could assume.

  
The man inclined his head in greeting. "Clan Vizsla, I believe? You fought well on Duro."

  
If he was surprised to be recognized Paz hid it well. The pair must have met in battle directly.

  
"Not well enough," Paz muttered in reply.

The jetii arched an eyebrow. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

Paz barked a surprised, nervous, laugh. "Suppose so."

This was all wrong. Din had never seen Paz nervous like this since they were kids.

_Better to get straight to the point,_ Din thought. "What brings you to Keldabe, General…?"

"No longer a general, actually. Luke Skywalker. And unfortunately I'm here for you, Mand'alor."

  
Din felt a sudden chill. _Haar'chak._

The walk from the landing pads into the city was tense, to say the least.

  
Din felt uncharacteristically self-conscious of the sorry state of the planet. Keldabe in particular was a shadow of itself. In the wars, when the Mandalorian forces had pushed ever outwards, their home planet had all but been abandoned as warriors poured from Mandalorian space to set fire to the Outer Rim and the Republic. Now there was hardly anyone left to return to their ancestral home world, and even fewer that wanted to. The massive spaceport the city once boasted was now too big to maintain, forcing ships to land outside the city, as Luke’s transport had. The once grand buildings that lined the streets with jewel-toned walls and honeycomb windows stood mostly abandoned, looking dull and dingy from disuse. As they approached, Din’s gaze passed over the shimmering dome over the planet’s capitol, and the oasis of tropical greenery it rose from. He wondered if someday this too would be swallowed by the desert, another victim of his own people’s destructive impulses.

  
As the trio passed through the gate of the dome they were hit with a wave of humidity, a precious commodity, trapped and held within the dome’s boundaries. The sunlight became dim and turquoise-filtered through the thick barrier now above them. Paz and Din’s visors fogged briefly before the helmets’ hardware could compensate. Beside them, Luke’s hair began to curl just slightly more than before.

  
"So… former general?" Paz asked, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

  
Luke smiled politely, trying very hard not to show how nervous he was to the armoured men that flanked him. "Even if my rank wasn't both honorary and circumstantial, it would have been revoked, given the… arrangement here."

  
_Fools_ , Din thought, not for the first time about Republic leadership. Any Mandalorian would have killed the person that insulted and dishonored them like that. He wasn't surprised, though, that the Republic would make some effort to appear less connected to the Mand'alor's consort - at least publicly.

  
"Try not to be offended if our people don't accept your demotion. To not acknowledge your status would be an insult to our fallen." If Paz expected to rile the jetii with the comment he was disappointed.

  
Luke's only response was a light, "Very well." Luke was very proud of that, because he felt like he'd been gut punched.

  
Awkward silence resumed and they all tried not to fidget. Their footsteps and the whir of the T3's motor behind them seemed deafening.

  
This time Din was the one to break the quiet. "I was under the impression marriage was forbidden to jetiise." It was a long shot, but Din couldn't help but hope.

  
Luke actually laughed. Din tried to be angered by that but felt the spark fizzle abruptly when his eyes flitted briefly over the other man's dimpled smile. Luke's reserved mask was back quickly, but now that Din had seen it slip he could pick out the faint signs of nervous humour concealed behind it.

  
"Oh I haven't been a Jedi in quite some time," Luke eventually answered, "I'm not sure if that's working out in my favour at the moment."

  
Din bristled at the insult and succeded in staying angry this time. Not that it was reasonable to expect Mandalore's second most hated enemy to be pleased about being forced into a political marriage with him. It chafed against his pride all the same.

  
Luke seemed to notice Din tense and quickly added, somewhat clumsily, "That wasn't meant as a personal insult, just that there are more important things for me to be doing - and that's not what I meant either-" Luke forced himself to take a deep breath, then let it out a deeper sigh, "I'm just not going to talk anymore. It was a rough shuttle ride and I'm not at my best here."

  
Din could see Paz's tense posture dissolve at the sudden show of awkward humanity from the Jedi, and that put Din on guard almost more than Paz being nervous.  
Apparently feeling emboldened, Paz taunted, "Nervous flyer?"

  
Luke huffed, but smiled, a small degree less polite and more genuine than before, "Oh I'm fine with flying, I just can't handle not being in the pilot's seat anymore."

  
"Control freak, eh?"

  
Luke let out a surprised laugh, "Never been accused of that before. Maybe you're right though."

  
"Ever flown a Bes'uliik?"

  
“You call that flying? No, I'm not quite crazy or stupid enough to touch one of those monsters."

  
"I'd like to see you in one." Was Paz _flirting_ now? Din was going to kill him.

  
"Too bad Revan ordered them all decommissioned then," Din cut in, shooting Paz a sharp look he knew could be felt even through the beskar.

  
Luke felt something tense pass between the two men but didn't say anything.

  
The silence they lapsed into this time was only slightly more amicable but, Din realised with surprise, it wasn’t as horribly uncomfortable as he had expected this walk to go when he woke up that morning. His expectations were, admittedly, very low.

  
The streets began to show scattered signs of life as they drew near the city center and people began to peer out of windows, stop in the street to stare as they passed, or hurry their pace away. One woman who Din knew only from her Beroya clan signet seemed to recognise Luke and had to be physically restrained from assaulting him by her wife, screaming mando’a curses at the jetii. Mostly, however, their procession was followed by cold, silent stares. And if Luke had to concentrate to control his pounding heartbeat, well, he was grateful nobody else could tell.

  
Eventually they came to an open square along a broad street where a round, squat building stood. It was built of dark timber and bone-white clay brick with tall, narrow windows of orange and blue coloured glass that had probably been replaced more times than could be counted. It looked decidedly out of place and out of date but to Luke it felt like the city’s ancient heart. It was pretty close to the truth.

  
They were met at the building’s heavy double doors by a Cara Dune and Boba Fett; the former of which was leaning against the doorframe with her helmet tucked under her arm and the latter was approaching fast with an air of open hostility.

  
Luke held his ground against the charge, posture tense and chin raised defiantly. “Fett.”

  
_Great_ , Din thought, _everyone I know’s met my gods damned husband before me._

  
Din filed away Luke’s very different response from the first meeting with Paz to ask Fett about later; because Boba had a temper but that was clearly more personal than a brief encounter on the battlefield. From the interested glimmer in Cara’s eyes Din could tell she was doing the same.

  
Boba stopped bare inches from Luke, taking a moment to blatantly size him up. “Skywalker.”

  
A tense moment passed where no one seemed to dare breath, neither man backing down, and Din almost thought the two were going to start throwing punches right there in the square. Then Boba nodded, seeming satisfied, and turned to march purposefully through the doors of the Oyu'baat without saying so much as a word.

  
Luke was both relieved and confused, but he wasn’t about to complain, and followed the rest of the group inside.

  
Two long curved counters lined with barstools hugged the walls of the building's first floor. A broad, shallow staircase along the back wall led up to a second and third floor, some of which could be seen through the circular opening in the high roof, right above a large fire pit. There was no one else inside at the moment - Din had made sure to let the proprietors know there would be an outsider coming through.

  
Luke couldn’t help let out laugh, which he did his best to smother, when he realised what the building was. _Of course_ , Luke thought. _Of course what passes for a government building is a cantina. How very Mandalorian._

  
“Something funny, Skywalker?” Boba snapped.

  
Luke coughed, then bit his lip hard to keep down another bout of laughter. “Nope, nothing.” He couldn’t help adding with timid delight, however, “This is much nicer than the Jedi High Council.”

  
Cara, ever the diplomat, smirked back, “Yeah? What about the Senate Chambers?”

  
“Oh, much nicer. Almost infinitely nicer.”

  
“If you’re done insulting us,” Boba snapped, “We’ve prepared a room for the broadcast.”

  
“...what I get for trying to be nice,” Luke mumbled, and allowed himself to be led up to the third floor.

  
“Whatever ridiculous pageantry your Republic expects to see, they won’t get it,” Boba warned as they climbed.

  
“Thank the stars for that.” Luke almost groaned, remembering the detailed instructions the Supreme Chancellor had instructed Luke to deliver to the Mandalorians for the Republic’s expectations for the marriage ceremony. Luke had thrown the datapad in the nearest trash compactor before he left.

  
“That bad, sunshine?” Cara asked.

  
“They wanted a parade,” Luke admitted, “Flowers, confetti, fireworks. All very… imperious.” Luke half believed it was specifically meant to get him killed, but then he half-believed that about most things nowadays.

  
Paz made a disgusted noise. “Having the rites broadcast at all is already shameful enough.”

  
Luke hummed in agreement.

  
Din wondered briefly if Luke would get in trouble for not acting more commanding as a representative of the Republic, or if perhaps this was all an act on Luke’s part to ingratiate himself to them. He didn’t need to think long to decide which one sounded more likely.

  
The group entered one of the meeting rooms on the third floor that was equipped with a communications array for long range conferencing.

  
Luke dropped his locker - Din had actually forgotten he was carrying it - by the door, then removed his cloak with minimal flourish and set it on the conference table, completely unaware of the other men’s eyes taking in the shape of his body. He brushed some of the white desert sand from his pants before giving up with a sigh. “Let’s get on with it then.”

  
Luke assumed the controlled air he’d held when they’d first met at the landing pads, and again when he’d faced down Boba. It felt entirely different to Din, to be the target of that controlled attention, and the conference room suddenly felt entirely too small. Luke squared up to Din, almost like he was facing off for a spar, and Din felt pinned by the man’s steady gaze. Din faintly registered the impression he was being hunted by a predator - a feeling Din wasn’t unfamiliar with, but never in this context. He was barely able to hide the shudder that ran through him.

  
_He’s different from other jetiise_ , Din realised. Other Jedi radiated power in battle; it whipped around them like a hurricane. The man in front of Din pulled the strength out of him like the breath was being pulled from his lungs - and from the nervous shifting of the other Mandalorians around him Din knew they could feel it too. _He’s something much worse._

  
Luke didn't ask what to do, but Boba told him anyways, "Just repeat what the Mand'alor says."

  
Luke didn't acknowledge the instruction, but gestured to the T3 droid and a blue beam immediately lit up the two betrothed.

  
Din somehow managed to find his voice to say the vows and was embarrassingly relieved he didn't stumble over them.

  
"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde," Luke repeated and Din was surprised to hear Luke's Mando'a was accented but not heavily, and spoken with practiced confidence. Whether the effort was to spare himself or Mandalore embarrassment, Din unexpectedly appreciated any effort was made at all.  
The T3 unit stopped recording as quickly as it had begun and hooked itself into the communications console to transmit the performance to Coruscant.

  
Fett began to list Luke's duties in the interim. "You will be expected at ceremonial events and you will perform your duties as Mand'alor consort when he is challenged in battle. Normally it would also be your duty to help care for the Mand'alor's children but -"

  
"If you come near my son I'll kill you myself, treaties or not. Know that this gives you no power - over me or any Mandalorian."

  
"I understand all of what this means, riduur," Luke replied calmly.

  
The word felt like a slap to Din's face, and he was left reeling from the implications of the earnestness of the statement. If he really understood, why had he agreed to this? Why let the senate just give him away, to be nothing but an extremely conspicuous spy at best, and at the risk of being taken hostage and abused as a war trophy at worst? Din certainly knew a number of Mandalorians who would be happy to make the worst happen.

  
"Though I'm sure it doesn't mean much from me,” Luke continued, voice betraying nothing, “I would regret not saying that I am sorry for what this costs you - personally I mean."

  
Din wasn't sure what to say to that except for a tense, "I didn't exactly have a choice."

  
"You did. You chose the better deal for your people. I don't know you at all, but I can respect that at least."

  
"If you're trying to flatter -"

  
Luke actually snorted. "I would never try flattery on a Mandalorian."

  
No one had anything to say to that at all and Luke seemed to recognise that. “Could someone show me where I can put my things?" he asked.

Din nodded stiffly to Paz, and Din didn't even register the T3 beeping angrily as it rolled over his foot on the way out. It wasn't until the men and droid left through the front doors of the Oyu'baat that Din felt like he could breathe again. The idea of Luke Skywalker’s respect sat heavy and uncomfortable in his mind.

Paz led Luke to a street of narrow terraced houses, practically at the edge of the city, hardly a place of honour but Luke supposed it was better than a shack in the jungle. Or a grave. Paz nodded to one of them and Luke followed him inside. It was a modest two story home; kitchenette and seating area on the first floor, and sleeping quarters on the second. The only interior door was a sliding panel in the bedroom that hid a small fresher. Luke dropped his locker at the foot of the bed. Paz didn’t ask before searching it and Luke couldn’t find it in him to be offended or surprised.

  
"Where's the lightsaber?" Paz asked as he rummaged through the locker, pulling out nothing but black outfits, ponchos, basic toiletries, a worn out blaster pistol, and a few ration packs.

  
"It's not with me."

  
Paz scoffed, turning to face the Jedi. "I'd believe cannoks fly before I believe that."

  
Luke could sense Paz's eyes darting about his person, trying to guess where the saber was hidden. "Gonna strip search me, Vizsla?"

  
"I just might have to if you don't hand it over." Luke swore he could hear the teasing grin in the man’s voice.

  
Luke shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "If you insist. The confiscation of my lightsaber was made pretty public, but I guess you don't have to believe the holovids."  
"Mandalore's pretty far removed from the Republic news cycle nowadays."

  
"Ah." Luke winced. "Of course."

  
Luke had thought everyone knowing everything about him had been suffocating. Now he felt a well of dread open in the pit of his stomach at the thought that here he was going to have to explain it all himself, to everyone he met. He wondered how long it would take for it to stop feeling like he was killing a part of himself by acknowledging it out loud. Then he wondered if it would be worse for it to stop feeling that way.

  
Paz gave Luke a very professional pat down, and found only a vibroknife in Luke's boot. Paz tilted his helmet at that, fixing Luke with an accusatory glare. Luke just smiled and shrugged. He ended up being allowed to keep it.

  
"I'll look up the holovid," Paz told him in lieu of goodbye and left.

  
In the privacy of the small house Luke's knees finally gave out as the stress, fear, and anguish he had been holding back since he left the supreme chancellor's office came crashing down on him all at once. Not for the first time, he found himself mourning the loss of freedom he never really felt he had.

When Paz got back the group had moved back down to the main level of the building, taking up the end of one of the bars and watching the cantina slowly fill with cautious patrons now that the interloper was gone. And drinking. Well, Cara and Boba were drinking. The Armourer had brought Grogu a short while ago and Din was bouncing the child on his knee while filling her in on how the "wedding" had gone.

  
"Djarin, you lucky bastard," Paz shouted as he burst into the Oyo'baat.

  
"Has something good happened I don't know about?"

  
"Very funny, Mand'alor."

  
Din simply tilted his helmet in annoyed incomprehension.

  
"You gotta be kidding me, if that jetii wasn't already yours I'd marry him on the spot.”

  
Din nearly choked.

  
"Skywalker?" Fett asked, sounding almost as incredulous as Din felt, which had Paz nodding enthusiastically. Boba tapped his finger on his glass thoughtfully a few times before coming to a decision. "Yeah I'd have him."

  
"If I _had_ to pick a _man_ ," Cara agreed.

  
_What's become of my life?_ Din wondered helplessly, looking down at his son, who gurgled in response. _Very helpful._

  
Luke _was_ beautiful, Din could at least admit that, and he was a more than formidable enemy… Had Din accidentally acquired the Mandalorian equivalent of a trophy husband? He filed that away to have a crisis over later, possibly never.

  
"That man is nearly single handedly responsible for the defeat of our people," Din grit out.

  
" _I know_ ," Paz insisted. "Are you even a Mandalorian if a beautiful sentient that could crush you without hesitating doesn't get you just _a little_ hot under the beskar'gam?"

  
"He cut down members of your clan in front of you." Din recalled the reverent way Paz had described the battle. He was beginning to see it in a new, somewhat disturbing light.  
Paz shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."

  
“I swear if you weren’t my vod…” Din muttered with a long suffering sigh.

  
“What do you plan to do with him?” the Armorer asked.

  
“I plan to leave him where he is and ship him back to his Republic the second I can get away with it.”

  
The Armorer hummed thoughtfully, helmet tilting slightly, catching Din’s attention. Din knew from experience she was about to give some perfectly rational, but extremely controversial advice. "Revan's jetiise were the Republic's sword and shield. This one could be the same for us."

  
"Turn your enemy's greatest weapon against them," Boba approved.

  
Paz made a disgusted noise. "Are we going back to war against Revan then? Wish someone had told me. I would've contacted my next of kin."

  
“What use could a Jedi the Republic don’t even want _be_ anyway?” Cara asked.

  
“Who said they don’t want him?”

  
Cara laughed, “He’s here isn’t he?”

  
“Doesn’t mean he’s not still working for them.”

  
“They chose him as a show of their power over us,” the Armorer stated plainly. “To remind us constantly of our defeat and act as a statement that they can afford to consider such a man disposable. He serves no purpose here as anything else. He is merely a symbol to them.”

  
Din wasn’t so foolhardy to believe that. Even if Luke wasn’t a spy, saboteur, or a distraction from a larger plot, it hardly made him less of an enemy. “Even if he could be persuaded, everyone lost someone at Malachor. Our people are better than most at accepting death in battle but Malachor V was different - I don’t think they’ll be lining up to stand at his side.”

  
“You dishonour yourselves for thinking such things of our people. All jetiise that defied their masters to answer our call for battle are worthy of our respect. When kyber and beskar clashed the stars themselves trembled before our might - any mando’ade worth their beskar'gam should be eager to chase that glory. This is The Way.”

  
“This is The Way,” Paz echoed.

  
Din sighed. He wanted to say chasing their greatest defeat was hardly The Way. Instead he said, “The Way is not the same for every mando’ade. You know this.”

  
The Armorer tilted her head. “Do you deny the jetii would make a powerful ally?”

  
Din recalled what it felt like to stand before Luke, not even as a proper enemy but an inconvenience, and another chill shot through him. He shook his head, "No."

  
"Even if he could be turned, the Mand'alor's right," Boba said, finally. "Most of our people that didn't already hate you are less than pleased with you letting yourself get forced into marriage with a Republic jetii. We should keep a healthy distance."

  
"You could seduce him," Cara suggested with a grin.

  
Grogu made a curious sound that did not help Din’s composure.

  
"You can't be serious," Din spluttered.

  
"Kriffing lucky bastard," Paz grumbled, crossing his arms sulkily.

  
"You _are_ already married," the Armourer mused.

  
Din sighed. "This is pointless. Skywalker is still our enemy and will be treated so.”

  
Paz continued to grumble, “If he was our enemy we could just kill him. I karking hate politics.”

  
Din ignored him, shifting Grogu to his hip so he could stand and leave.

  
“Married life has made you cranky Mand’alor!” Cara called after him, getting one last jab before he could go home.

  
Din sighed. He was sighing a lot today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannon era Mandalorians: Jedi do not interact or else  
> KOTOR era Mandalorians : everyone in this farmer's market wishes to know Revan carnally


	2. A Hole Where Your Heart Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end of chapter for mando'a translation because I think I messed it up ;_;

The days were shorter on Mandalore than Luke was used to. People there only typically slept five or six hours and ate just twice in a day. Luke was only eating once a day, and found it hard to sleep at all, but that was nothing new. It had only been ten days. He was adjusting fine. Really. It was actually kind of nice to have ten days where absolutely nothing happened.

The only problem was that he'd had ten days where absolutely nothing happened. Luke had just gone from commanding in a years long war, to months of political shitsorm from that war's fallout, mixed in with a healthy dose of media scandal, to absolutely nothing. Anyone familiar with the physics of a speeder crash would have a good idea how Luke was doing at the moment. _It's completely fine though._ Luke could swear he could hear his sister calling him an ignoramus. _Yeah,_ Luke thought, _ignoramus is definitely the word she’d use._ Then she'd put him in a headlock. 

Although, considering the last time he'd seen her, maybe she wouldn't do any of that. So many things had changed between them. He wondered where she was right now, what she was doing, if she wondered the same things about him. It made him feel powerfully homesick.

That, quite frankly, was the last straw for Luke. He wasn’t about to do anyone the favour of losing his mind only a galactic standard week into captivity. He’d have to make a public appearance eventually anyway, and the longer he waited to be seen the more cowardly he became in the eyes of those around him. And on Mandalore cowardice was worse than a death sentence.

“Alright Artoo,” Luke sighed, “let’s go mingle with the common folk.”

The little blue T3-D2 beeped excitedly, already driving out the front door.

Luke huffed at the droid, “Y’know I get that you were bored too but I don’t think this is exactly going to be fun.”

Artoo whistled something rude back, rocking impatiently on its feet while Luke closed the front door behind them.

Luke began to make his way towards the city center but as he got closer he realised he had no idea where to go. He could try the cantina he’d been taken to when he’d arrived, but he had a feeling he would definitely be unwelcome there. He supposed he didn’t have to go inside, but the building was significant and there was bound to be something in its vicinity that would be what he was looking for, or at least someone that could point him in the right direction. He didn’t get the chance; Luke was still a ways from the Oyu’baat when he was stopped in the street by the woman who had shouted curses from her doorstep at him days ago. Stripes of gold had been added to her armour since their last encounter.

“Akaanir ni bal ramaanar par ijaat be ne’aliit gar kyrayc, jetii hut’uun!” the woman shouted as she came charging at Luke.

The woman's partner came running after her, laying a desperate hand on her companion’s shoulder - which was immediately shaken off - and saying something too hurried and quiet for Luke to make out.

Luke frowned. His Mando’a was passable but he didn’t know if he wanted anyone to know that. It seemed like whether he answered or not he was in for a fight though, so he supposed it didn’t matter at the moment. The previously sparse street was beginning to grow crowded as people stopped to watch.

Artoo chirped excitedly that he would be pleased to fight in Luke’s stead. The little utility droid did a giddy spin while beeping a request for permission to deploy it’s shock arm, giving Luke one more thing to worry about.

“I think you need to go home, Artoo,” Luke said quitly.

Apparently hearing the seriousness of Luke’s words, the droid made a low whistle and started rolling obediently backwards the way they had come. The Mandalorians, thankfully, paid it no attention.

“What’s your answer jetii?” came a taunting call from the crowd.

Luke didn’t answer right away, weighing if asking for translation or ignoring the whole thing was the better course of action. He didn’t want to fight the grieving woman, but he knew he couldn’t refuse. And a challenge, once issued, couldn’t be taken back. Maybe, though, if Luke could make them believe the challenge wasn’t received he could avoid it. A kind of communication loophole.

That faint hope was smothered when another voice shouted "Fight already!" which quickly morphed into a rallying chant and there was no misinterpreting that.

_Well… frak._

  
  
  


Din was playing the holovid over, for about the dozenth time, searching for any signs of insincerity or artifice in the contents, since he couldn’t find any signs of the recording being doctored in the first three viewings. Grogu had fallen asleep in his lap about two replays ago, the curiosity he had initially shown for the holo faded by repetition long ago. 

It had been delivered two days ago through one of Cara’s old contacts who was still close enough to Republic space to know what they were looking for. The holo ended and Din sighed, pressing the button that would start it over one more time.

The image of the Jedi High Council Chambers re-appeared; a circle of mostly empty chairs and Jedi Masters with names Din didn't much care about, and Luke Skywalker standing expectantly in the center.

A little green creature that looked a lot like Grogu - if Grogu had spent too long in a washing machine - began the proceedings. “Know, do you; why called you here, we have?”

Luke in the recording frowned, visibly confused. “I requested to speak with you, Masters. I sought your - you - ” Luke seemed to come to some realisation. “I wasn’t summoned for that, was I.”

A bald, dark skinned man sat forward, steepling his hands. When he spoke, it was not exactly to acknowledge Luke's question. “As Revan summoned you, so you have come full circle to return to the Jedi.”

“Defy us, why did you? Guardians of peace, the Jedi are; and for centuries have been. Undermines everything we are, the call to war does.”

“Is Revan your master now?" The final council member accused, hotly; an old man with gray hair turning white, "Or has the horror you wrought at Malachor caused you to see the truth at last?”

Luke didn’t look surprised by the Jedi Council’s barrage of questions. He _did_ look like he was trying his very hardest not to scream. Din wasn’t sure if he would have been able to do so, were he in the man’s place... and if this was real.

“I would answer all these questions and more, Masters - and I have just as many questions for you - but I already know you felt the worlds of people suffering through the

Force as strongly as I did. And I don’t believe you would listen to me any more than you did the day I left.”

“You refuse to hear us. You have shut us out, and so you have shut yourself to the galaxy.”

Luke screwed his eyes closed and shook his head in clear frustration. His fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“You are exiled. You are Jedi no longer.”

At that, Luke’s eyes snapped open, lips parted in shock. 

“One last thing, there is. Your lightsaber, surrender it you must.”

Seemingly appearing from nowhere, a pale blue saber suddenly blazed to life in Luke's hand. He stood like that for a long moment, willing his expression to ease from the pained grimace it had twisted into, to the mask of impassivity Din recognised. His stance shifted into something equally controlled, standing tall, defiant, righteous; ignited saber extended out in front of him for all to see. Time seemed to slow as the saber fell from Luke’s grip, blade dying in an instant, and clattering to the marble floor. The act felt significant and final; like what Luke had just dropped was actually a live grenade.

“Thank you, Masters, for your guidance.” Luke strode purposefully, and proudly, out of the Jedi Council Chambers.

“We have not lost a Jedi this day," The white haired man spoke again, intentionally loud enough, Din was sure, for Luke to hear as he retreated out of frame. “He has lost himself.”

If Luke faltered or looked back at all it wasn't captured on camera, which Din found more oddly satisfying each time he watched. At first he'd attributed the feeling to how ready he had been to dislike the Jedi Council, but on the fourth play he'd caught himself saying "good for him" out loud, so maybe he was developing a bit more sympathy for Skywalker than he was entirely ready to admit.

"Malachor V should have been his grave -”

The recording ended abruptly there, and Din let out another frustrated sigh. He was very close to committing the entire sequence to memory but still couldn’t wrap his head around what it all meant. Everyone knew that the jetii masters largely condemned the involvement of the renegade members of their order in the wars, but Din had never heard of any being exiled. Ever, actually. There was no word in Mando’a for a Jedi Exile; only jetii and dar’jetii. It seemed unlikely, but maybe exile wasn’t uncommon and the jetiise simply covered it up - which finally brought Din to the issue of how this footage became publicly accessible in the first place.

“How many times does that make?”

Din was startled by the Armorer's voice, and Grogu grumbled in his sleep at the sudden motion. He didn't realize how lost in thought he'd been to not notice her enter. "Too many," he forced himself to admit.

"What answers can you gain from it that the jetii could not give you himself?"

"Several I suspect. And I don't think he'd give me a truthful answer to the rest. That's if he'd say anything at all.”

“Information of questionable accuracy may be better than none at all if it gets you to spend less time in here.”

Din huffed.

“If I -”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by Boba Fett slamming the door of the room open. “Mand’alor we have a problem.”

Din sighed, “Have we lost contact with another clan?”

Boba shook his head. “You need to come with me, now. _We have a problem._ ”

  
  
  


They found their problem in the sparring rings. Cara and Paz seemed to have been waiting for them and flagged them down in the crowd of spectators. Grogu reached out for Cara as they got near and Din passed him off easily.

“Please tell me this isn’t a death match,” Din pleaded, without much hope.

Cara’s answer confirmed Din’s fears, “Depends on if they’re agreeing to yield over there.” she nodded towards the ring. It did not seem like that was what they were agreeing to. “If Beroya kills him the Republic’s gonna be up our asses like mynocks on a power coupling.”

“Any chance we can stop it?”

“Do you _see_ how many people are here?”

He could; it seemed like the whole city was there. Din could imagine people had gone around knocking on doors to make sure no one missed the spectacle.

“I will speak with them,” the Armorer informed them and strode quickly to the sparring ring where Luke and Beroya were still arguing about the terms of the fight. Boba disappeared wordlessly into the crowd at the same time, seemingly on a mission of his own.

Grogu wriggled in Cara’s arms until she hoisted him up to her shoulder so the child could see the proceedings better.

Cara smirked, “This might get ugly, you sure you want the kid here to see this?”

“He’s seen worse,” Din replied automatically.

Cara’s smile widened and Grogu babbled cheerfully, clearly satisfied. The familiarity of the exchange did little to put Din at ease but he appreciated it.

After a tense, but obviously much more productive negotiation now that there was mediation, terms were set and the Armourer returned to the group while the combatants took up starting positions.

“They agreed to fight with training staves,” she informed them.

“What about killing each other?” Paz asked.

“Beroya insisted, and I believe what the jetii said was, ‘if she can manage to kill me with a training staff she deserves to.’”

Paz barked a laugh at that and Din might have also found the statement endearing if the surrounding context didn’t have his throat closing with anxiety that did not lessen when the fight began.

Luke fought like he thought he had more weight behind him than he did. It didn’t serve him poorly, exactly - he aimed to go through his opponent with each hit, fully committed to every movement, never leaving room for second guessing. It _did_ make him seem oddly sluggish and clumsy, and occasionally left openings Din thought he should know better than to expose. Din knew these observations should be absurd - even without armour weighing him down the man moved faster than he had any right to, hit with force Din knew would leave bruises under his opponent’s armour as large and dark as he was getting himself, and still there was that devouring presence Din knew Beroya _had_ to feel.

“He’s holding back,” Paz grumbled.

Cara huffed in disappointed agreement, but Din found he couldn’t share the sentiment. 

He knew very well all the ways a jetii fought, and Luke didn’t fight _quite_ like he was holding back - despite how much he tried to make it look that way. He fought like a wounded animal; though he hid it well behind the practiced composure the jetiise taught so persistently.

“You see it, do you not?” the Armorer asked quietly enough for only Din to hear in the crowd.

Din nodded, slowly, eyes glued to the fight, earlier anxieties all but forgotten. He wanted to see more, absorb every hint of insight he could in the moment. His hunter’s experience was working on overdrive identifying strengths, limitations, looking for whatever injury Luke was clearly not yet used to compensating for, but he just couldn’t pin the source of it down.

The fight ended when Luke sent Beroya’s weapon flying from her hands and quickly swept her legs from under her, knocking the woman to the ground flat on her back. Luke landed with his foot on Beroya’s chest and his staff held to her throat. A moment passed where they were motionless, save for the heavy rise and fall of their chests. Their audience held its collective breath. Finally, Luke tapped the chin of his opponent’s helmet and the gentle clink of metal might well have been blaster fire by the way it broke the quiet. The unvoiced demand in the action was clear.

“I yield,” Beroya growled.

Luke suddenly felt all of Beroya’s feelings cut through him like a bolt and he stumbled back, images of Malachor blurring his vision. Beroya stood shakily, no longer pinned and Luke was overwhelmed with the need to scream. He wanted to tell her that he understood exactly what she had lost - what he had taken from her. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. But he also wanted to survive, and the woman had no use or desire for his apologies or his sympathy. He wrestled his miserable expression into something more composed, though he knew it was already too late to hide it from Beroya. She wouldn’t ask questions, though - she didn’t care one parsec for his erratic display of emotion and Luke was momentarily, and conflictingly, grateful for that.

Luke stalked back to the weapon stands to replace his staff, forcing himself to stand tall, walk a straight line without stumbling.

Boba Fett was waiting. “That woman lost two brothers and all three of her children at Malachor V,” he said.

“I know.” If the haunted look in Luke’s eyes gave Boba any cause for concern, Luke wasn’t in a state to notice.

Luke wanted to retreat back to the relative safety of isolation but he had left that isolation for a reason, and he didn’t want to have to repeat this incident when he finally mustered up the courage to try again. So he forced himself to walk over to where his husband had been watching. The disappointed crowd was already beginning to disperse. _Just hold it together a little longer,_ he told himself.

Grogu was back in Din’s arms, but the child wasn’t what Din was primarily focused on as he started to move to meet Luke - he had some choice words for the jetii after that mess. Those priorities changed abruptly when Grogu let out a pained cry as they drew near, at the same time that Luke stumbled back as if struck.

Din clutched his son tight to him, never taking his eyes off Luke, one hand instinctively on his blaster.

“You should keep him away from me,” Luke choked out, hand coming up to smother a sob and taking another shaky step backwards. Tears were breaking free from the man’s eyes in time with Grogu’s quiet whimpers.

“What did you do?” Din demanded.

“He can… I’m so sorry.”

All other thoughts forgotten, Luke broke off at a run.

  
  
  


Luke wasn’t seen after the incident. For three days Din struggled alternatingly with trying to convince himself to go find the man and get some answers, and doing his best to ignore all the questions he had. Then Grogu, completely out of patience, made up his mind for him.

  
  
  


It was evening and Luke was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to meditate in his bedroom when Artoo let out a series of concerned trills.

Luke frowned. “What do you mean there’s a mutant monkey-lizard in the living room?” he called down.

The only response was a crash and an electronic scream.

Luke sighed and stood up, with only moderate aches from his days-old bruises, and habitually straightened his clothes before sliding down the ladder to the first floor.

“Okay what’s the issue?”

Artoo was cowering behind an overturned chair, shock arm extended threateningly towards the living room.

And in the living room stood the Mand’alor’s child. Luke froze. Grogu tilted his head and cooed at Luke’s attention. Then the child took a few steps forward, letting out a whimper and reaching out his hands towards Luke.

Artoo screamed again at the movement, brandishing it’s shock arm and knocking over another chair, which mostly went ignored.

"You shouldn't be here little one," Luke said, backing away, though there wasn’t much of anywhere for him to go.

The child took another toddling step forward, letting out a heartbreaking whine and making grabby hands at Luke.

And, well, what was Luke supposed to do?

Luke took one last look around, confirmed there was absolutely no one else in his house and let out a resigned sigh. "Alright little guy, let's go find your father." _And hope he doesn't execute me for laying a hand on you,_ he added silently. 

Artoo tried to protest.

“It’s a child Artoo, not a rabid gundark.”

Artoo insisted that Luke still shouldn’t pick it up, as he didn’t know where it had been. Luke just rolled his eyes.

The second Luke scooped Grogu up, the child was pressing his tiny hands as hard as he could to Luke's chest, right over his heart. The child's wide eyes closed in concentration. Luke pushed the little hands away in a panic and Grogu's eyes snapped open. He let out another sad and confused mewl.

"No. Oh no, little guy. I'm sorry, it's not something you can heal."

Grogu's ears drooped.

"It's okay, it's okay. Thank you for trying to help. It’s very kind of you.”

Grogu didn't seem much comforted by that but thankfully didn’t try again, and Luke let out a sigh of relief.

Luke opened the front door and almost walked straight into Din’s chestplate.

Luke let out a surprised “Oh.” Artoo, who had been right behind Luke and had just driven right into the back of his legs, beeped a string of expletives.

“I didn’t uh, kidnap him I promise,” Luke explained, hastily.

“I know.” Despite his natural suspicions of Luke, Din had tracked his son there himself; so he did in fact know the child had toddled the whole way on his own, and even jetii mind tricks had their limits.

Luke stood there with his mouth hanging half open for a moment before coming back to himself and hastily handing Grogu over to his father. Grogu began to babble animatedly at Din, alternately smacking his helmet and pointing at Luke.

“Is that so ad’ika?” Din hummed.

Luke bit the inside of his cheek, feeling like an intruder, and trying to hide a soft smile, “What’s his name?”

“... Grogu.”

“It was nice to meet you Grogu. And sorry about… everything.” Gathering his courage, Luke raised his gaze to meet Din’s visor. “So, while I’ve got you here, this is awkward but I actually came out the other day to ask if you had a library. So, uh… where can I go for... that?”

“Our history and stories are oral,”

Luke winced. “I see.”

“... But I’ll see what I can do.”

Luke’s eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard once again.

“I have some questions for you.”

“I think I can guess what the first one’s going to be.” Luke relaxed a bit, despite his apprehension. An exchange was easy to navigate. Confused feelings of gratitude, however, were something he couldn’t afford to have room for. “Your place or mine then, dear husband?” 

Din froze and Luke cringed at the same time. 

“Sorry,” Luke apologised hastily. “I’d promise to get better at that but I have a talent for putting my foot in my mouth.”

Din hummed his acknowledgment but didn’t comment. “I’ll find someone to keep Grogu out of trouble. Follow me.”

Artoo made an impatient beep and drove intentionally back into the back of Luke’s legs.

“No, Artoo you stay here.”

"The droid is… ‘Artoo’?"

"Yes."

Din pointed out that the droid's designation was T3-D2, not "Artoo."

Luke just shrugged and said, "Some droids have names."

Din didn’t care for that idea at all.

Luke kept his head held high as much as he could while they walked. He wasn’t sure how well he was doing compared to the Mand’alor, who held the casual confidence of someone who was comfortable in his own home and knew he could defend it. Luke kept a healthy following distance and found himself wondering what that felt like.

They skirted the city center, and Luke wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or to protect Din’s image, but he was grateful not to have to meet too many people’s cold stares. Soon enough Din stopped at one of the houses to knock on the door; Luke continued to hang back. The door is shortly opened by Cara Dune and after a few words, and glances over Din’s shoulder at Luke, Grogu is handed over to her. They talk for a moment more, Cara seems to laugh at her own joke, and finally she waves goodbye. She shoots Luke a wink before closing the door, and Luke can’t begin to understand what that means.

Just one street over Din leads them to another house, and tells Luke to follow him in when the man hesitates. The inside is not much bigger than Luke’s home, which he was mildly surprised by even though he knew he probably shouldn’t be. He was more than mildly surprised by the coloured scribbles covering every inch of wall below knee height. Luke was sent reeling by the thought that he was actually in Din’s private home. It feels too intimate, like a violation. Din didn’t think much of it; going to the Oyu’baat would cause a commotion and Din wasn’t comfortable being alone with the jetii and the obnoxious utility droid in his house, so Din’s house it was.

Din motioned for them to sit at the table in the kitchenette, and Luke did so, still mildly dazed.

“We got a hold of the holovid,” Din began.

Luke’s mouth drew into a thin line. He didn’t say anything, just took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever questions were coming next.

“How many more of Revan’s jetiise were exiled?”

“None.”

That wasn’t what Din was expecting. “Why?”

“No other Jedi returned to The Order, so no other trials could be held. I’m sure they’re not... _technically_ considered Jedi if that’s what you're asking?”

It was and it wasn’t.

“Why did you return?”

Luke hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’d let it go if I said that was personal?”

Din just stared at Luke through his visor, letting the man make his own assumptions.

“Partly because I wanted to, and partly because Revan asked me to. Is that… enough of an answer?”

“For now,” Din allowed, even though he’d just been given several new questions. “Is it normal for jetii matters to be broadcast in the Republic?”

“No. And I don’t know anything about that, before you ask.”

Din thought for a moment on how much of all this to believe. Finally, Din had to ask about what had happened to Grogu.

Again, Luke hesitated before answering. “Malachor V… became a part of me. Your son is apparently very strong in the Force. He can feel it... and it hurts him.”

Din didn’t bother asking what that means or if it hurt Luke too; whether it was because he already knew or didn’t care, Luke was both relieved and left feeling hollow.

“Can I ask you a few things?” Luke asked, when no more questions from Din were forthcoming.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“How did you become Mand’alor?”

“You mean after Revan destroyed the Mask of Mand’alor.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I’m just the best at not getting killed. So far.”

That got a rare smile that had Din feeling annoyingly proud of himself for being the cause of.

“And that makes you the Mand’alor?”

“It’s the only real requirement for claiming the Mask.” The answer was incomplete and Din felt slightly uncomfortable leaving it at that; but there wasn’t much point in telling one of Revan’s generals how completely losing the mask had destroyed their leadership, that Din was just the best they could find, and how it wasn’t nearly enough.

Luke nodded, understanding and not pushing any further. Instead he asked, “The helmets; I’ve seen some people take them off. Is that… allowed?”

“In combat, no. Depending on a creed’s interpretation of the Resol’nare it can be removed when not in battle, only in the presence of other Mandalorians, only for clan, or not at all.”

Luke nodded again, worrying his lip in thought, wondering if it would be inappropriate to ask Din what creed he fell into before thinking better of it. “Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence and Luke wondered nervously if he should ask to be excused, if he was expected to just leave, or he needed to wait to be dismissed.

Finally, Din broke the tension by stating, simply, “It’s late.”

“It is,” Luke replied slowly.

“I’ll escort you home.”

“I know how to get there by myself.”

“And let you get challenged to another duel? Do you have any idea what kind of nightmare I’ll have to deal with if you get yourself killed?”

“Yes but I’ll be dead so it won’t be my problem.”

Din chuckled and Luke was thankful it had become dark enough to hide the light flush creeping up his neck from the sound.

  
  
  


Two days later Luke found a small stack of books and holotapes left at his door, and there was that confused gratitude Luke hadn’t wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akaanir ni bal ramaanar par ijaat be ne’aliit gar kyrayc, jetii hut’uun! = "fight me and die for the honour of my clan you murdered, Jedi coward."
> 
> Me: oh yeah I’ll make Luke the Jedi Exile it’s perfect  
> Also me: oh no I’ve made Luke the Jedi Exile what have I done
> 
> Trying to balance the fact that these guys are enemies while also remembering these guys are Din “half my interactions with people have gone from trying to kill each other to ride-or-die in 0.3 seconds” Djarin and Luke “I'm gonna save Darth Vader and no one can stop me” Skywalker.
> 
> I think y'all can figure out who I made the jedi council but the updated character tags should make it clear ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all this is the first fic I've written since 2013. Dinluke is just that powerful.
> 
> If I mess up any of the mando'a translations, or you're suddenly sent running for wookiepedia to make sense of something please let me know so I can make corrections.
> 
> Updates on Fridays.


End file.
